


Lion-tamer

by 655321



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Rough Oral Sex, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 06:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13475346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/655321/pseuds/655321
Summary: “You know how I am, man. You know me. I want something, I chase it, I get it, and then I start to fucking hate it. I don't- I don't want that to happen with us.”Trevor laughed. “That would almost be a good excuse if it weren't twenty fucking years too late. You already hate me, Mikey. You just fucking said it, I know you. Who else is supposed to love you, Mikey? Who the fuck else is gonna love me, if it's not you?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> GTA never goes away, it's great. This was the first thing I wrote after I finished story mode, and it was just an emotion dump. This was supposed to be my big fix-it happy ending Trikey magnum opus and I swear I will finish this. It's not perfect, it sat around for a while, but hey, why not post it, it was just sitting around anyway.

_I've got this craving lately_

_I got a fire in my stomach_

_Something has changed_

_And I burn the house down_

_That your jewels were buried in_

-Daniel Johns, “Imagination”

 

“Trying not to believe things when in your heart you are almost sure they are true, is as bad for the temper as anything I know.” - E. Nesbit

 

\---

Before _Bury the Hatchet:_

\---

“T. It's me. Listen, you wanna do something, hang out?”

“Aaah. Okay then, sure, why not? Make a change from missing you.”

~

Trevor walked down to the beach from the condo. Michael picked him up there. Trevor was smoking a cigarette. Which meant that he probably wasn't on anything else. Not knowing quite what to do, they got drunk.

“You look good, M. The beard suits you. And I'm amazed you got more ink.”

“Heh. I'm not so surprised to see you got more.”

“That's some nice ink work, Mikey,” Trevor leaned closer, examining the detail on Michael's neck. “I gotta say. It almost makes you look tough.”

“Har-fucking-har.”

“You probably call your tattoos “body art,” like a dick.” When this got no rise out of Michael, Trevor plowed on. “What's Rose of My Heart?”

Michael nursed his drink and said nothing.

“Is it for A-man-da?”

“Shut up, T.”

“Jesus! Get drunk already.”

When they were drunk, they got rowdy - arguing over some bullshit - and caused some kind of scene that had them firmly ejected from the bar. So, taking their lives in his hands, Michael drove them back to his house.

 

~

Trevor returned to the living room with two beers from the fridge. He swigged from one and set the other on the table. He was genuinely surprised to see Michael sitting on the couch and using the coffee table to roll a joint.

“I did not expect you to have a stash.”

“Confiscated some of Jimmy's before they left.”

“Uh-huh. I guess family life will do that to a man,” Trevor sighed, falling back onto the couch.

Michael laughed. “What? I can't relax in my own house?”

“Do you ever relax? But hey, I’m not judging.”

“I can feel you judging me right now,” Michael prodded, feeling playful.

“Nooope.” Trevor swigged his beer.

“C’mon, T. A downer might do you some good.”

“You’re enough of a downer for me, Michael.”

“Oh-ho!” He chuckled. “Guess I deserve that.”

Trevor watched Michael roll the herb in the paper. His fingers worked with confidence, sprinkling just enough of the plant into the cradle of thin paper, and then deftly coaxing the paper into a smooth cylinder.

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Franklin.”

Trevor laughed, fondly. Michael swiped the rolled joint across his tongue and twisted the ends, one to a fine point.

“Aaagh, I remember when you used to do coke, Mikey. You could almost keep up with me.”

Michael lit up the joint. Trevor watched his throat work the smoke through it and take a lungful. Trevor smiled into his beer. After another hit, Michael offered him the joint.

“Eeeech, why not?”

They passed the joint in silence for a while. Trevor was surprised Michael wasn't going for the remote. He must have actually wanted to talk.

“The booze, the weed. You trying to settle me down, Mikey? Trying to dumb me down and control me.”

“Don't get paranoid. Besides, you don't need me to dumb you down.”

“Ooooo,” Trevor slurred some drunken, mocking sound.

“Faster isn't always sharper, T.”

“Oh, because you're just so sharp, Michael.”

“I’ve pulled your ass out of the fire a few times. You remember that, huh?”

“Mmhm,” Trevor nodded. He puffed on the joint like a cigarette, burning up what was left and practically eating the roach.

“You seem like you’ve got something on your mind, Mikey. I'm here for you, man. Let Uncle T help.”

Michael laughed and looked like he was going to blow past this offer, and then his face fell. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot on my mind, T.”

“Tell me about it, baby.”

Trevor was a little too close and this pet name was far too warm but Michael was too stoned to protest it.

“Just, being here alone...Shit, I’m alone even with a house full of wife and kids. I've got everything so why does it feel like I got nothing?”

Trevor raised an eyebrow, very ready with an answer but he let Michael talk.

“I keep thinking that this is what I want but I keep feeling like shit, and that don't add up. And I must be fucking wasted to be saying this to you but-”

“What is it, M?”

Michael huffed and switched gears. Trevor let him because Michael actually turned to meet his eyes and posed a question.

“Am I just lying to myself, T?”

“Always, Mikey. You are in a state of perpetual denial. You've always been that way.”

“What? Always? You haven't even seen me for ten years.”

“Well, it doesn't look like a whole lot has changed.”

Michael shrugged. Trevor turned away from him, angry and hating him suddenly, thinking about how things _used to be_.

“That you would even ask me a question like that makes me think you already know the answer.”

“Shit, y’sound like my shrink.”

“I'm a better listener than he is, though.”

Michael was going to jump to sarcasm but he realized this was actually true. So he said nothing. He was an asshole. He had never thought about all this from Trevor's perspective. Maybe it was just the weed. He felt like shit for hurting Trevor. Felt like shit for almost everything he'd done for over a fucking decade. And that was fucked up because now was fucking sunshine and roses compared to then. But now there was no Trevor.

They were in the same headspace. Beer and weed and ten years of untouched regret placing them together in a box where they were utterly alone with each other.

“T. Trevor,” Michael broached almost tentatively, “I gotta ask.”

“Shoot.”

“What is this meth-head, cannibal bullshit anyway?”

Trevor tilted his head, curious. He took Michael in with an accusatory gaze. When he spoke, his words were slow and deliberate.

“Ten. Years. Mikey. I mourned you, then I missed you. And what? What was I supposed to do? When the only person who ever loved you dies, what do you do?”

“Smoke meth and eat people?”

“I've been trying to die for ten years,” Trevor growled against Michael's snark. “Mikey, everything I try to do just fucks me over.”

Michael snorted. He knew the feeling.

“You think I'm the only person - person who -”

Michael hit a psychological wall coming up on the “l” word.

“You are the only one, Mikey. Until I finally die. I'm fucking stuck with you, Townley.” Trevor let out an angry laugh, “even when you're dead, you fucking haunt me.”

“T. Us. This. It- maybe it's better left in the past, you know?”

“What? No. No, Mikey, I _don't_ know. I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I'm right here. We both thought the other was dead and now we're both here, alive, and you're going to tell me to _leave it in the past?_ That's some grade-A bullshit, Mikey. Even from you.”

“You know how I am, man. You know _me_. I want something, I chase it, I get it, and then I start to fucking hate it. I don't- I don't want that to happen with us.”

Trevor laughed. “That would almost be a good excuse if it weren't twenty fucking years too late. You already hate me, Mikey. You just fucking said it, _I know you._ Who else is supposed to love you, Mikey? Who the _fuck_ else is gonna love me, if it's not you?”

Michael laughed, mean. “Trevor Philips is talking to me about _love_.”

“Fuck. You. Michael. You piece of shit, why the fuck can you not just be honest with me?”

“I'm in denial, remember?”

“And that's what you want? To sit here and be an asshole in your asshole house in denial? Living in mutual hatred with your shitty family? Please, Michael. Look at my face and tell me that's what you really want, and get me the fuck out of your life.”

Michael said nothing. Wouldn't look at Trevor.

“I don't know what I want,” he lied, lamely.

 _I want you,_ he thought, looking at the psychotic wreck of a man in front of him. Hating himself for, not just wanting another man but, specifically wanting this man. And hating Trevor for being the one.

“Shit!” Trevor rose from the couch and stalked off toward the kitchen.

Michael followed after a few breaths and a sigh. He stood behind Trevor as he helped himself to the whiskey decanter on the counter. He felt Michael's presence and turned, fixing Michael with an unsettling expression as he downed a shot. Michael's eyes lowered, just trying to get away from Trevor's eyes, and helplessly dragged across his sinewy, lanky body. Michael stood awkwardly close for the level of animosity sparking between them, but somehow it drew them each closer. Michael smelled Trevor's sweat above the scent of whiskey and a windy, lingering note of cigarette smoke. They were standing close enough to each smell the other’s aftershave, and Michael was trying not to meet Trevor's eyes.

“This is ridiculous,” he huffed, turning his face away from the gravitational pull of an impending kiss.

“You’re ridiculous!” Trevor shouted, shoving Michael back and making him stumble a bit. “You fat, miserable, closeted asshole!” Trevor shoved him again. “Call me if you ever find your nerve.”

Alone, Michael poured a shot of whiskey.


	2. 2

“Mikey! Gotta say, I'm surprised to hear from you again.”

“What can I say, I'm a glutton for punishment,” Michael responded.

_I fucking hate you, Townley, you glib fucking bastard._

_“_ Wanna do something? Hang out?” Michael added after a pause, “Maybe get drunk?”

“Well, gee, how can I say no to that?” Trevor growled, not selling it at all but Michael was so used to sarcasm he just breezed by it.

“Good. See you soon.”

~

“Having you back like this, it's got me thinking.”

“Oh? You get yourself in trouble that way, Mikey.”

Michael's laugh was the one he made whenever he was doing something he knew was downright foolish.

Michael took an abrupt right turn, making for a very close encounter with another car at the intersection. They were both a little drunk.

“Ah, fuck it, let's go play tennis, whaddya say?”

Trevor stared at him, fucking aghast at just how much of a coward Michael Townley was.

“No. No,” he began calm, “what were you about to say, M?”

“Forget it. I- I- I don't even know what I was thinking anyway.”

“Mmhm. Right. Yeah, Michael, fucking whatever, we’ll play fucking tennis.”

-

“We should throw down. Make it interesting.”

“And what were you thinking, T?” Michael dared to fucking ask, rather suspicious.

“Oh, I dunno, a “I win, you suck my dick” kinda thing.”

“No.”

“Just as an example. It doesn't have to be that. How about a kiss?”

“Really?”

“You bet your ass, sugartits.”

The way Trevor was staring at Michael made this comment sound serious, frightening, and more than a little alluring. Michael did not appreciate it.

“Well, come on, what do you want from me?”

Trevor braced himself for the inevitable “get the fuck out of my life” but he was still too amused to let it get to him.

“Alright, if I win,” Michael started, sounding oddly game. He thought for a moment, then smiled rakishly. “I’ll let you give me a foot massage.”

Trevor howled with laughter. “Yes! It's a fucking deal.”

They shook hands for the arrangement, then took up game positions.

-

“I’ll be so impressed if you beat me, I might even touch your naughty bits,” Trevor taunted as he awkwardly used Michael's side of the court on a side change. Just making an excuse to put his body near Michael's.

Michael snorted and coughed and pointedly did not look at Trevor, who of course was staring at Michael's body in lieu of touching it.

-

The master bathroom was large, with two shower heads. Michael tried to ignore the obvious tension between them, tried to tell himself it was no big deal. Confidently, he lied to himself and did not look at Trevor at all the entire time they spent awkwardly naked, washing.

-

Trevor thought the foot massage mere pretext and instead looked more like he wanted to straddle Michael's lap. Michael was about to let him. Trevor bent over him, their faces close.

“T, slow down. Feet, now.”

“Can't I get a kiss first, baby?”

“I won, you prick. Now rub my fucking feet.”

“Fine,” Trevor rumbled and sank back on his haunches.

Trevor picked up one of Michael's feet and set it on his thigh. Trevor’s hands were warm, he smelled clean after a shower, and he was mostly quiet. Michael liked this.

Slowly he relaxed into the feeling of Trevor's fingers kneading his skin. He closed his eyes, tempted to fall back onto the bed. Right around the time alarm bells were going off in his head that he might be letting himself get too comfortable, he felt a sensation very different from Trevor's hands.

Trevor was licking the bottom of one foot, from heel to toes, and he was obviously very into it. Michael's alarmed first thought was more of curiosity than disgust, so he hesitated - letting go of a visceral reaction and instead opting for silence. Trevor continued, lightly biting at the ball of one foot, then licking at it again, culminating in taking the biggest toe in his mouth and sucking at it.

Michael had no words. Well, he had plenty, but none that he actually said. He just watched in a terrified fascination. Trevor looked up at him, and just smiled before giving Michael's other foot similar attention. Trevor eventually gravitated toward Michael's crotch, nestling his lanky body between Michael's legs and going for the waistband of his shorts.

“T, I can't - I can't do this,” Michael stopped him, laying his hands over Trevor's.

“Michael, look at me. Yes or no? If it's no, we’ve had our fun, I’ll leave right now. You've just gotta tell me. Honestly.”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“C’mere, you fuck.”

Michael pulled Trevor up onto the bed with him. Trevor homed in on Michael's lips and didn't let go. Michael held on to Trevor by his ass, moving their bodies together so they each felt how hard the other was. Trevor was moaning into their kiss as Michael’s hands explored the tight, hard muscle of his naked back and abdomen.

Trevor licked and kissed over Michael's neck, over his tattoo.

“Rose of my heart,” he scoffed.

“It's for you, ya prick. You. The thorn in my fucking heart. You were haunting me too, you know.”

“You're so romantic, Mikey,” Trevor cooed, kissing over Michael's frown.

Trevor was sweet and tender with his kisses now but his hips were rutting against Michael of their own feverish accord. Michael was lost in a bliss he hadn't felt for twenty years.

“Fuck, T,” he breathed, both appreciative and pleading, “Fuck, you feel good, baby.”

“Mmmmhm,” Trevor was practically climbing Michael's body, aching to sit on his cock.

Michael stripped Trevor of his sweatpants. Trevor quickly exposed Michael's cock, sticky with precome. Trevor took the shaft in hand and licked its circumference, at the same time squeezing it and watching the precome slide from the head. Trevor looked blissfully excited as he took Michael's cock into his mouth, sliding the head past his teeth and sucking his lips around the shaft, gradually lower until he could feel the head at the back of his throat.

“Ah, Trevor. Fuck, baby. Come on, come on.”

Trevor shuffled back atop Michael's body and lined them up.

“Fuck. Fuck yeah, sugar. Fucking love your cock,” Trevor smiled, slowly sinking onto him.

“Oh, baby. Goddamn.” Michael watched his cock disappear inside Trevor.

“Yeeaah, oh baby. Mmm, tell me how you want me, Mikey.”

“Baby, you're perfect,” Michael gushed, all his initial embarrassment evaporated now that he was watching Trevor's unattended cock bounce while he rode him.

“You feel so tight, baby. So good. Fuck. Uh, fuck baby, I'm not gonna last. You're riding me so hard.”

“Just a little longer, M. Just hang on.”

Michael closed his eyes, threw his head back and tried for the sake of his partner to hold off his own climax. Trevor watched Michael absolutely smitten, up on a manic high getting to feel his old love like this again. He couldn't help touching himself; keening and whining and quite hampering Michael's concentration with his symphony of pleasured sounds.

“Trevor. Baby, come on. I'm gonna come, baby. I'm gonna come in you. You like that, don't you? You want me to come in your ass?”

“Oh, fuck yeah, Mikey. Fuck yeah, fuck.”

Trevor's legs were shaking as he raced toward an end, his relentless hips pounding Michael's cock deep inside him, again and again. Trevor's hand on his own cock was a blur.

“Yeah, I'm coming, M, you ready?”

“I'm with you, T. Fuck, you look so good, baby.”

Trevor's cock spilled over Michael's chest as Michael's eyes rolled back and he shouted, spilling inside Trevor.

“Ah, fuck.”

Trevor didn't care about the mess he'd made, laying over Michael's body to kiss him. Michael let Trevor have the moment. He found himself, despite himself, enjoying it; Trevor all starry-eyed and giving Michael slow, wet, warm kisses.


	3. 3

After  _ Fresh Meat _ :

\--

 

_ Of course he's not dead. Can he even die? Immortal reptilian mutherfucker.  _

Trevor’s phone rang. In his pocket, under the sound of his Carbine rifle chipping away at the exterior of Michael's bourgeois mansion, he barely heard it. But he heard it. Because it could have been Michael. 

It was.

“You’re fucking calling me?”

“STOP SHOOTING UP MY HOUSE!”

“NO! FUCK YOU! I’m not going away, Michael. If you think I'm just going to walk away then you’re more of an idiot than I thought!”

“FUCKING PSYCHO!”

“That's it, Mikey! Tell me what you really think of me - it's the closest you’ll ever come to being HONEST!”

Silence.

“Ha! You fucking snake, Townley. COME OUT HERE AND FUCKING TALK TO ME LIKE A MAN.”

“Oh, fuck that. I'm not gonna fight you in my fucking driveway.”

“No? You too good for that now?”

“Just knock that shit off before you bring any heat, you dumb fuck.”

“I WILL FIGHT FUCKING COPS ON YOUR LAWN, MICHAEL.”

“FUCK. Fine, okay? The door’s open, T. Get in here and let's talk. Just for fuck’s sake stop shooting!”

 

-

 

“Thanks for the rescue, ya prick!” Michael yelled, as soon as Trevor entered the house.

“Yeah. Maybe you don't need me after all.”

Michael just shook his head and poured a shot of whiskey. “Fuck you.”

Why did Michael feel like this was the best thing that had “happened” to him in a long time? This idiot. Walking back into his life and leaving a mess of fuckery in his wake. Sending everything in Michael's life scattering to the wind. Demanding that it was now  him or nothing. Fucking hated him for that. But Trevor had this way of reading Michael's mind. Like Trevor always saw Michael's darkest, most reckless desire and then just chased it down and made it happen. Maybe Michael anticipated Trevor's actions eerily well. Both? Together? And what the fuck did that mean? Whatever it was, he  liked it. It was sick and he liked it, maybe because it was sick. 

Once Trevor stepped close enough, Michael punched him with a fist. 

Trevor barely reacted. “Hit me again, Mikey. You know I like it.”

So he did. A slap this time. 

“More,” Trevor laughed. 

Another punch, and another, and Trevor was on his knees, where Michael wanted him. Michael's hand wrenched the back of Trevor's shirt collar.

“I want an apology from you.”

“From me?” Trevor shouted, with a laugh.

“Yeah. From you. You would have let me die.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Trevor mocked.

Michael slapped Trevor across the face again.

“You  made me take on  your shit! You're running around in a suicidal tantrum and now you're making me clean up after you!”

Michael yanked back on Trevor's shirt, effectively choking him. Michael slapped him again for good measure. 

Trevor's eyes only sparkled.

Michael worked open his own belt and slacks.

“You want me to make my apology to your dick?”

“Mmhm.”

“Shit, why didn't you just say so?”

Trevor was already going for it, but Michael grabbed the back of his head and shoved Trevor's mouth onto his cock. He made Trevor take it completely, immediately. Trevor choked but still held to Michael's ass with both hands. Michael's cock roughly fucking his throat was satisfying something Trevor desperately needed from Michael. Michael growled and cursed watching Trevor eagerly moaning and drooling around his cock. 

“You fuck,” he muttered, anger and lust crashing together. 

Michael moved Trevor's head roughly along his cock while he pistoned his hips. Finally, he held Trevor still while he thrust erratically, deeply into Trevor's throat. Trevor still held onto Michael and looked like he would happily endure the treatment for the rest of his life. Michael was simultaneously enraged and aroused by how blithely Trevor took this, what was supposed to be punishment. Part of him was focused on this obscene portrait he'd created; fucking Trevor's throat deeply without restraint. Another part was already running a list of depravities that honestly unnerved himself, just reaching for ways to punish Trevor. 

It wouldn't be enough, not ever. There was no physical act that could heal that gulf of Betrayal and a decade of resentment that stained them both. Michael's rage peaked, shattered, and left cold reality in its wake. Trevor still clung to him, still swallowed his cock, bobbed his head and stroked Michael with his mouth until he finished. 

“Fuck, T. Trevor. I, fuck-” 

Trevor stood, wrapped his arms around Michael's hips.

“Mikey. What's really wrong?”

“Can't we stop doing this, T? This, I hurt you, you hurt me bullshit, can't we stop?”

Trevor only laughed. 

“I know, okay? I know. I'm a piece of shit, I fucked everything up. I'm tired, Trevor.”

Michael's heart was pounding.

“I'm scared, alright? I'm scared fucking shitless, and that's why I can't say it. That's why I'm in eternal fucking denial. Because I'm scared of how I feel about you. That's why I left. It's why I left you for Mandy.”

“Are you scared of me?”

“Nah. You I can handle. It's myself I can't stand.”

“Maybe we can each just think for each other.”

Michael laughed sarcastically but still sounded relieved.


End file.
